Interference
by altwriter
Summary: Peter Bishop was brought back to Observe, but he's not content with that. And now, he realizes that there's more to it than just his non-existence; the lives of the people he loves are still in danger, and he's the only one willing to stop it all.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Fringe.

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><p>Author's Note: This was only supposed to be a oneshot, but then my brain started churning out ideas, and this is the beginning of what it's become. Well, I hope you like this first bit, because it's only the beginning. I'm not sure how long it'll be, because I've only very loosely planned it out, but stick with me, because we'll be getting into the real action next.<p>

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><p>Interference<p>

I.

He supposed that not many returned to this—that is, if anyone else had been wiped from existence—and he was grateful for that. His memories, though intact, had been falsified by this change of events, and he'd been forced into the world of the same people who had sought to eradicate his very being. He seemed to be the only one to remember the world, as it once had been, when he'd still been a part of it. And now, he had the burden of holding onto those memories, as he traversed this strange, unfamiliar universe, now simply observing.

He supposed he should've been content, merely with the fact that he was alive, but he wasn't. That wasn't his nature. He had the clothing—the fedora, the suit; a strange cadence to his voice was even beginning to come through. However, the mind reading skills they seemed to have, among other quirks, hadn't come to him, not yet, anyway. His individuality had been dulled, but it was still there.

He was still Peter Bishop.

He rebelled, as he'd always done, to the life they'd given him. He was only supposed to watch, and report back his findings, but he found it hypocritical, after how significantly they'd interfered with his own life. It was like walking around as a ghost, seeing everything, but no one really saw him.

He was told that if he didn't interfere, everything would stay as it would, as it _should_. Should? He didn't think that was right. He'd existed previously, and who were they to say that it should be otherwise? Inter-dimensional time travelers, that was all they were, whose attempts to regulate the balance of the universes usually ended up creating more problems than they could hope to solve.

They'd saved lives, his and Walter's notably, multiple times, but it was only for their own gain, or the gain of their cause. He knew that, now. They'd brought him back to this world, gave him a purpose, but that didn't mean he liked it, or that he'd follow through with it.

These feelings of anarchy brought him to Olivia's doorstep, and a twinge of anxiety to his stomach. She wasn't going to be the Olivia Dunham he knew, because she hadn't been affected by their meeting. For all he knew, she could now be a completely different person, but something told him that wouldn't be the case. Her nature was still the same. And though he knew (and how it pained him) that she wouldn't recognize him, he knocked. He didn't realize how late it was until she opened the door, groggy-eyed; he didn't sleep anymore. Her right arm was straight at her side, barely concealing her gun behind her leg, as she said,

"Who're you?"

The words caused his breath to hitch. He didn't quite know how to answer, and so he took a moment, removing his hat, grateful that they'd allowed him to keep his hair. At last, he held out a hand. "Peter Bishop."

She took his hand, and he saw the corner of her mouth twitch; a sure sign of annoyance. At least that hadn't changed. "Well, Mr. Bishop, it's nearly two in the morning. What is it you want?"

Peter shifted, his hand dropping; a dead weight to his side. "You don't recognize me, do you?"

"Recognize you? No. Should I?"

The twinge in his stomach grew. "We used to be friends." _More than that, even._ His hand burned where she'd touched it.

She crossed her arms. "I don't know what you're getting at. I've never met you, and friends don't come to the door at this time of the day, asking for—what is it, exactly, that you want?"

"Just to see you, honestly."

He knew what she was thinking. She had an eidetic memory; if they'd met before, she would've remembered. "To see me?" She cocked a brow. "I'm flattered, but I don't know what to say, other than that."

"Well, maybe if we could just talk, I could jog your memory a bit. How about that?"

"Talk?" Olivia snorted, moving to lean against the doorframe. "Now isn't a good time to talk."

He was near begging, now, wanting to get anything he could from her. His hands were spread in front of him, his forehead creased, as he said hurriedly, "No, it has to be now. Please."

Olivia Dunham didn't take (what she considered to be) shit from anyone, especially not Peter Bishop, especially not now. This was genuine, but she couldn't have known that. This was a whole new person he was dealing with, he had to remind himself, as she murmured an insincere apology and closed the door in his face. She called through the door,

"If you'd like to come back in the daytime, then perhaps I'll give you a chance to tell me what's going on."

Then she was silent after that, and he listened in vain for any indication that she was contemplating opening the door for him again. He so wanted to knock again, or to break down the door, and force her to remember him. He couldn't do that.

Walter had once said that memories were never truly gone. If that was true, then there was some hope, for Peter to be able to retrieve some semblance of life as it was. But there was the issue of whether or not the Olivia and Walter, and the others he'd known, still existed, or if entirely new people had replaced them with his erasure from non-existence. Though he was technically an "Observer", he had not been born one, and he still had only vague knowledge as to their origin and true purpose. No, he'd only been given the uniform, as a sort of free pass to explore the Earth that had been born without him on it.

He was told he'd eventually begin to change, to lose his hair and the use of some senses, to gain the ability of mind reading, and to travel between universes as easily as they did. He wasn't looking forward to this, because it meant he'd be losing more of who he was. That was the opposite of what he wanted, because the purpose of his trip tonight was to assess just how far gone he was from the lives of those who had known him. The outcome was worse than he'd expected; there had been nothing in Olivia's eyes, no impression that he was at all familiar to her.

Peter left her apartment building, his gut knotted, his throat dry. The street was empty, save for a lone figure on the opposite side of the street. He knew they'd be waiting; they always knew where he was, and this was certainly a breach of whatever contract he'd agreed to, for them to allow him to stay here. It was the Observer he'd come to recognize as September, as emotionless as always, as he turned to Peter and said,

"You know that was the last time you will be allowed to see her. You should never have come here, it is dangerous to the balance of the universe."

"Does that mean she can still remember me? I mean, otherwise it wouldn't matter, right?" Harshness crept into his voice; a tone he often took when speaking with them. He'd never been fond of the bald men, and certainly not now, with this torture. How could they know what it was like for him, to have to watch the people he cared about living on without him, without knowing he'd ever existed.

September avoided the question. "If you come back here, your position will be jeopardized. You do want to stay here, don't you?"

His lip caught between his teeth for a moment. He did, he really did. It was much better than being caught in limbo, or something of the sort. He didn't exist, after all. He didn't have much leeway to be making these kinds of choices. "I do."

"You cannot tell her your name, nor anyone else. That name, particular to you, has been wiped from existence, as it should be. You already served your purpose, and we have done you an act of kindness in bringing you back. We can take this privilege away just as easily. You are no longer Peter Bishop, you are one of us, and you will do your duty as it has been assigned to you. You cannot interfere with anyone's lives, most predominantly those you had previously been involved with, due to the instability of the situation. Listen; there is one thing you must leave tonight knowing.

Do not interfere with Olivia Dunham's life again."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has begun to read and review, it's always appreciated. Don't forget to tell me what you think of this next part.

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><p>II.<p>

Loneliness had never been something Peter particularly fretted over. He'd always done fine with making friends, and during his nomadic ventures throughout the world, he'd usually managed to find a companion or two through the short stays. Now, even when he was considered to be an Observer, he wasn't, not really. He was one of a kind, the only person to have been pulled from the universe, and then put back in, in an entirely different life.

He no longer had anyone to fall back on. No one remembered him, and it absolutely killed him that this fact was what seemed to keep the universe in balance. Perhaps it all really was better off without him.

Peter didn't really believe that, though. He thought it to be a lie, an attempt by the Observers to keep him out of the picture, because it made their own job easier. And he wasn't one to go along with a lie like that for the advantage of others.

An advantage of his own, however, was that he was often able to overhear conversations and information about the future of others—mostly, the things he heard were about various people that he didn't care much about. The Observers seemed to be able to have some sort of psychic abilities, something he wouldn't have minded inheriting himself. It was what they based many of their decisions on, this ability to predict what would happen, basing the timelines on certain choices each person in the universe made. It was how they decided whether or not to act on many things. They often didn't, unless the need was dire, as they had made it out to be in Peter's case.

He spotted September outside of the Kresge Building one day, taking notes in that book he always had on him. The Observers, however transcendent they may have seemed, were not without flaws. He'd been sitting at a bench, and placed the book face down to keep his spot, then left without it. Peter, hoping it wasn't some sort of deception, to test his loyalties or something of the sort, hurried over and scooped it up. The writing, which would have been indecipherable if he had just found it any other day, now seemed to cause something to click in his head. He couldn't read the entire passage—the page had been filled with strange symbols—but bits and pieces he could make out, which was a surprise to him.

It was one sentence that stood out to him, and, for the life of him, he couldn't understand why or how, only knew that he could understand what it said.

'_The war is not over, and there will be another casualty…future events will be played out earlier than expected._'

This tugged at something in the back of his head, triggering a memory that had been pushed away, because of how unpleasant it was. 'Casualty' wasn't a particularly nice word, and war was certainly referring to the war between universes. Anxiety coiled in the pit of his stomach, and though he'd come here to perhaps catch a glimpse of Walter, he knew that he now had another mission.

The Bridge was still intact, still in place by the power of the Machine, and it was used as a means of moving from one universe to the other, albeit not utilized often. No one favored the unfamiliar setting, and the basement of Liberty Island was used as a meeting place only when absolutely necessary. No one really enjoyed the company of their alternates.

Some time later (he often lost track, being on a different cycle than the rest of the world), he found himself in that very basement. The Observers had the ability to go unnoticed mostly anywhere, as if they had some sort of filter that hid them from the view of the normal public, and Peter was not exempt, luckily for him. It was the dead of night, and only a stray scientist, fast asleep, was there, to keep watch over the project. Peter perused, quietly as he could, searching for something, anything, that would hint to this 'casualty' he'd read of.

Laid out on a table beside a computer was a pad of paper, and he recognized the handwriting instantly as Walter's. Or, Walternate's, he surmised, due to the clarity of the writing. Walter's scribbles usually made no sense to any normal human being. And it was exactly what he needed to find, though the writings were nothing he wanted to see. Olivia's name was listed, and beside it, a date and a time. '_…future events will be played out earlier than expected._' That was what September's journal had said. And what future event could he be referring to, involving Walternate and Olivia, if not for her killing? Perhaps he was jumping to conclusions, but he preferred to be safe than sorry. In this situation, the best option was to ignore September's warning. To hell with the consequences, he wasn't about to stand by and allow Olivia to be killed, not after having witnessed it once already.

Beside her name was a single word—'_fix_'. Apparently, Walternate thought that killing Olivia would be a quick fix to the situation. Of course, that would be the logical train of thought—in this universe, she'd been the one to open the Bridge, because it had been she, instead of Peter, who'd had that ability. But killing her wouldn't bring about a solution, though it seemed Walternate thought it to be the only choice. Peter knew that wasn't the case, that there was much more that could be done to begin to repair the tears in the universe, but of course, he'd been told to only observe. Not anymore, though.

He was through with following their rules, if it meant a life would be lost because of them.

#

Her apartment was empty when he arrived. It was the middle of the day, and he wasn't surprised, knowing she was at work. It was nice, gave him a moment to look around, to scout out the subtle differences. She'd had a picture on the mantle of the both of them, though that was gone, now. The smell was familiar, still burned into his nostrils, and, just for a moment, he imagined things were right, with him still in her life. She still had that stash of whisky in the back corner of the kitchen cabinets.

When he heard the lock click, he was already waiting on the couch, and caught the quick look of surprise as she opened the door, though it immediately switched to anger, as her hand went to rest on the butt of her gun.

"What're you doing here?"

He stood, hands in the air, in a gesture of surrender. "You're in danger, Olivia. I came here to warn you, to take you somewhere safe."

She scoffed, shaking her head slowly. "I'm not going anywhere with you. Sit back down; you're explaining all of this to me. _Now. _Unless, of course, you'd like to do it in an interrogation room, handcuffed to a table." This was the Olivia he knew, though with a different air about her. She was the Olivia he'd first met, back in Iraq, still with the same darkness to her eyes.

"We don't have time for that." Her hand tightened around the butt of her gun, sliding it out of the holster. "I promise, I'll tell you everything, but not now, not here."

"I don't even know who you are, as much as you act like I should." The words physically pained him. "And I'm not letting you leave until I find out what's going on."

The Observers hadn't left him defenseless; the ray-guns they used were efficient, able to stupefy someone without permanently harming them, and he had one strapped to his hip, hidden beneath the hem of his jacket. Now, though, he had it out in an instant, before she could react. As much as it pained him to do it, he had pulled the trigger without wasting another second, murmuring a quiet apology as he did so. He knew Olivia, knew that she wouldn't come with him for anything if she didn't trust him. There was time for him to convince her that he was worth her trust later. Currently, though, he had to get her out of there.

And that was how Olivia found herself tied up in the back of her own SUV.


	3. Chapter 3

III.

The effects of the ray gun lasted longer than he'd expected, so long that he was worried he'd given her brain damage only ten minutes into the drive. He'd tied her wrists and legs, knowing that upon waking, she'd be able to make a getaway if he hadn't, and her gun was tucked into the waste band of his pants. He'd left her cell phone at her apartment. Glancing into the rearview mirror, she looked only as if she were sleeping, hair splayed out across the backseat. He didn't speed, though kept to the outer limits, because being pulled over would mean all his efforts would go to waste. Driving without a license, not to mention having a federal agent tied up in the back, wouldn't do any good for his cause.

He wasn't quite sure where he was going; keeping Olivia safe and in his sight had been his only goal, but to keep her safe, he also had to keep their location hidden from anyone else. The Observers, he knew, would be able to find them quickly, but they wouldn't strike immediately. They would wait and see what he was up to.

Half an hour outside of Boston, he stopped at a motel, and bought a room for the night. The sun was already setting, but he knew that no one would know Olivia was missing until the next morning, when she didn't show up for work.

He scooped her out of the backseat, holding her close to his chest, relishing the feel of her, alive, in his arms. She stirred slightly against him, but otherwise, didn't wake as he elbowed his way through the doorway, and set her down on the bed. His hand lingered on her cheek, her skin warm beneath his touch. As she began to move, eyelids flickering, he drew it back, though he remained sitting beside her. It took a moment for her to focus on him, and he thought he may have seen just a flicker of recognition, but it was gone just as quickly.

She pushed herself as close to the opposite edge of the bed as she could without falling off, scowling at him as she said, "As soon as they realize I'm gone, they'll be looking for me. There's a GPS tracker in the SUV, you can't—"

"I know." Peter's voice was steady, almost monotone. If he betrayed any emotion at all, he knew he'd just confuse her even more, the opposite of what he wanted. "I disabled it."

"What, how?" Her frown deepened, though her expression changed into one more akin to fright. "What is it that you want? You said you were my friend, but I've never met you before. And anyway, if this is what you think friends do, then your idea is obviously messed up."

He wondered if Loeb had still kidnapped her, if she'd been held hostage on the Other Side. This Olivia seemed to have taken well to high-pressure situations. He was only able to discern the little emotion she was showing because of how well he knew her; otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to tell that she was at all scared. "I know," he said again, "and I'm sorry, but it was the only way. You wouldn't have come with me if I hadn't taken you, you made that clear."

"Really?" Olivia scoffed, maneuvering herself, slightly awkwardly, into a sitting position. She hated the vulnerability of lying next to him on the bed. "Maybe if you would just explain exactly why you want me."

"Long story short," said Peter, "your life is in danger, and I want to make sure you're safe."

"Why? Why do I matter to you?"

A grim smile crossed his face, and he stood, brows coming together as he stared at her. "You matter much more to me than you would believe."

Her eyes met his, her gaze challenging. She didn't believe him, that much was apparent. After a moment of silence, she said, "You're one of them, aren't you?"

"One of who?"

"The people we call the Observers. You don't really look like one, but the way you act, the way you speak, so cryptically…not to mention the gun."

"Technically, yes."

"Technically?"

"As I said, it's a long story."

He wanted nothing more than to tell her everything, to explain what had happened to her in hopes that her memory would return, and she would help to make things right. But there was a slim chance that doing that would actually be beneficial; if anything, it would probably only make her more distrusting of him, with such a fantastic tale.

"So, what now, then?"

Peter paced the perimeter of the small room; a single window, a television that must've been ten years old at least, and an armchair that had certainly seen better days. But it was a motel, what could he expect? The bathroom had no means of escape, either, unless she was able to swim down the toilet. He knew that keeping her like this, holding her like his prisoner, was no way to gain her trust, but he couldn't see any other way. Explaining everything to her slowly would leave her in harm's way, and he had needed to get her as far away from the danger as soon as possible.

"I'd like to untie you, I really would," he said, "but you first have to promise that you won't try to get away. Remember, Olivia, I'm only trying to help you." She had swung her legs over the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, in an attempt to ward off the discomfort from the position of her arms behind her back. He moved to sit behind her, his hands on her wrists, as he asked, "Do you trust me?"

"Trust you?" In more ways than one, now, he was the source of her issues with trust, and he hadn't expected the answer to be positive. "I don't even know you."

"I know, Olivia, but I need you to trust me, to trust that I'll make sure you're safe, as long as you stay with me. I can't have you running off while my back is turned." He loosened the knots around her wrists. "I'll say it again: Do you trust me?"

There was still hesitancy, though that was to be expected. At last, she said, nearly in a whisper, "No." His breath caught in his throat, and he looked up, meeting her eyes, as she craned her neck to stare at him. "I don't trust you, but I do believe that you don't want to hurt me." Her wrists were free now, and she rubbed them, the skin a bit raw, as she continued, "I want you to tell me what it is that you're trying to save me from."

He moved to kneel in front of her, working the restraints on her ankles, hoping that she wouldn't get any ideas while he was down there. A boot to the head would certainly not be advantageous to his cause. "How was it, exactly, that the Bridge from Over Here to Over There was opened?"

He could feel her eyes on the top of his head, though now he was avoiding eye contact. He couldn't stand looking into her eyes, knowing that she didn't recognize him, that she wasn't the same woman he'd known for those long years. "I don't appreciate the deflection, Mr. Bishop. How would you know about that, anyway? That's classified—only the people working on the project know anything about it."

"I'm an Observer, remember?" he retorted, almost joking, and wishing he was. She still didn't speak, and he said, "Please, Olivia." Past the point that he'd disappeared, he had no idea of the past without him, how the Bridge had been formed if he hadn't been the one inside the Machine.

"It was me." She was free of the restraints now, and Peter straightened, while she leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees. "I was the one inside the Machine…It was all in the drawings, left by the other Observer…It's strange that you don't know this, isn't it? After all, you seem to know so much about everything else." Still, there was nothing in her expression to insinuate that she trusted him in the least. This Olivia was, if possible, even more mistrustful than she had been, and perhaps, that was a product of his non-existence. "Does the Bridge have something to do with this threat you've been going on about?"

He nodded, but before he opened his mouth, she was speaking again.

"Bishop. Your name is Bishop." It was as if something had sparked n her mind. "And Walter Bishop…but there can't be any relation."

He was nodding his head, countering, "No, you've got it." Then, it struck him. "Peter Bishop, you don't recognize the name?"

Olivia had her hands on her head, fingers twined through her hair, focused on the worn carpeting. "I do. I saw it once, only in passing…in a file. Walter had a son, but he died a long time ago, when he was young. He was very sick. Walter never talks about it."

"Yes, and what about the Walter from the Other Side?"

"What about him?"

"What about his son?"

She brought her chin up, eyes narrowed. "He's never had a son."


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

He couldn't speak to her any longer; he needed time to process what he'd just heard. His ideas, thoughts of what could've possibly happened, were obviously incorrect. He'd thought he'd been brought back to a different set of universes, where there would still be double of everything. He'd assumed that here, _both_ Peters had died at a young age. Apparently, that was not so. He really_ had_ never existed.

Olivia was staring at him, unmoving from her spot on the bed, though Peter was pacing, nearly burning a hole in the carpet. The war between universes, then, must've started over a different sort of feud. Walter had always been curious about the Other Side; something else must've acted as a catalyst to prompt him to cross over, creating the issues that they were dealing with now. So, what would be the reason for Walternate wanting to kill Olivia? If he'd made a mistake, misinterpreted the message…

No. He couldn't have, not knowing so suddenly what it had meant.

Peter swung to face Olivia. "The Walter from the Other Side, Walternate—he's been helping, trying to fix the tears on his side?"

She nodded, though he did see a flicker of hostility on her face at the mention of his name. "Yes, but not too happily. He and Walter don't exactly get along well, because of what happened between them in the past." She stood, arms crossed. "What does he have to do with this, though?"

Peter shook his head, blowing air out through his nose, sighing. "I know what you've dealt with, mostly, and this is still going to be hard to understand. Cutting straight to the point, I saw into the future—or, at least, into _a_ future." His thumb rubbed over his ring finger, a reflex, though it touched nothing but flesh.

"Time travel, you mean?" There was a bit of incredulity.

He nodded, pausing, looking at her, _really_ looking at her. This was insane, keeping her like this. What was he thinking? This was no way to get through to her. "I can't get into it now." He gestured toward the bathroom door with a swing of his arm, attempting to change the direction of the conversation. "You had a long day at work, why don't you take a shower?" She glowered. "Oh, come on. I'm trying to be nice here." Really, he just needed time alone.

She cocked a brow at him, but edged toward the door, nonetheless. "Fine, I'll play along with all of this, because now you've got me interested. Time travel—well, _that's _something I've never dealt with before."

"And that's just the start," he murmured, but she'd already shut and locked the door. He slipped off his jacket, tossing it over the back of the armchair, and settled on the edge. He scrubbed a hand over his face. His skin was too smooth, for not having shaved in a while, and more than a few strands of hair came away in his hand as he ran it over the top of his head. Going bald was the last thing he wanted, if only because it distanced him even further from Olivia, and from their past life.

The pipes rattled inside the walls as the shower sprung to life, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His relationship with Olivia had never been merely about the physical aspect, but his time in this sort of limbo, existing in the world but not truly _living_, had left him starved for more than her company. While her memories seemed to be buried—or so he hoped it was only that—his were still intact, and quite vibrant. Her, against him, scalding water pounding his back, though somehow, it'd been only her body heat that he'd really felt. His name coming from her lips; more like a wish, than the bitterness that he'd heard with it just recently. His fingernails dug into his scalp, an expletive slipped from his mouth. This was no life, not for him. He was devolving—becoming nomadic once again, when he'd just begun to settle into some sense of normalcy with Olivia and Walter. If only they'd at least allowed him to leave the earth naturally, rather than having ripped him from existence, and then thrown him back into it, though into an existence that was entirely wrong.

He sat there, head in hands, until he heard the bathroom door open. She stood there, as dry as she'd been going in, and he knew that something was wrong. Her mouth was curled into a scowl, and she'd balanced herself on the balls of her feet as soon as the door had swung open, something clutched in her hands. So much for having time alone, while still keeping them both safe; she'd devised a sort of escape plan, and decapitating him seemed to be a part of it. She'd ripped a pipe or something else from the bathroom, hell if he knew how—perhaps a loose tile had allowed her access.

"You're either going to let me out of here," she said, her voice calm, betraying her expression, "or I'll find a way out myself, and I don't care whether you try to stop me or not. I'm not doing this any longer."

He knew it was strange that she'd so readily agreed to shower, when she trusted him not one bit. Peter held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Olivia, come on. This isn't what I want. I don't want to have to tie you up again."

She sneered, stepping toward him, and he was sincerely frightened for his well-being. As small as she was, her physical prowess was quite intimidating. She knew how to handle herself. "You won't get the chance, I'll make sure of it."

Though neither of them had the chance to make another move, because there was a strident knock at the door, and they both froze. There were no more knocks—instead, the door was knocked in without further warning, and three bald men barged their way into the room, headed straight for the two of them. Olivia, now focused on the intruders, swung her makeshift weapon their way. Peter, however, had only his fists; he'd left the gun in the car, and just now realized what a stupid idea that had been.

A rage he hadn't felt before, directed at the fact that they were trying to take her away from him, when he'd just got her back, boiled in his stomach, and steamed through his fists. Olivia was knocked to the ground, and a blaze of white flashed in front of his eyes as he struck out, catching one of the men, knocking him out. But he was grabbed from behind, his arms wrenched behind his back, and another came from the front. It was September, and despite the chaos, his face was as impassive as it always was.

"Peter Bishop, we allowed you to become one of us, but along with that, we expected you to follow our rules, our limits." The cadence of his voice grated on Peter's nerves. "You have not done so. You have interfered with the proper sequence of events."

Peter growled in reply, "This isn't how it's supposed to happen. You, bringing me back, isn't any sort of reprieve, as you've made it out to be. It's a condemnation!"

"Condemnation or not, what you've done must be corrected." September looked down at Olivia, who was clutching her head, seemingly incapacitated for the moment, and Peter wasn't sure whether it was from the attack or not. "She does not have a future."

His face contorted into something like a snarl. "She does with me."

"The universe is falling apart. It is imbalanced."

"It has been for a while now, and what you're trying to do isn't going to help that. If anything, it'll make it worse."

"It is a solution, though not the most preferable."

"You're running out of ideas." He jerked forward, but the Observer's grip was like a vice, unyielding. "You don't know what to do anymore. You've created more problems than you can keep up with. This wasn't supposed to happen, was it? You're just supposed to observe, but then one of you interfered, and it started a whole chain of events. We're just collateral damage."

There was the slightest flicker of emotion on his face; irritation, perhaps. "Peter Bishop, I will allow you time."

"Time for what?"

"To show me that this can be corrected without a loss of life." He nodded to the other Observer, and he released Peter. He rolled his shoulders, though never taking his eyes off of the man in front of him. "Consider it your first assignment."

They dragged the third Observer from the room, and were gone without another word, leaving the mangled door on the floor. Peter was seething, but his emotions were pushed aside, as he knelt down in front of Olivia, placing his hands on her shoulders. She was curled up, knees to her chest, back pressed against the bed, her hands still clenching her head.

"Olivia, hey, what's wrong?"

She titled her head to look up at him, but even that seemed to be an effort, her eyes squinted, her cheeks flushed from the exertion. "My head…" The words were no more than a whisper.

He reached forward, tentatively pressing his fingertips to her forehead, brushing away a few strands of hair. "Did they hurt you?"

She didn't flinch from his touch; that was encouraging. Instead, she shook her head. "No, not there." It was as if she were getting stronger, the pain fading from her eyes. "I don't know why…" She shook her head, mouth pressing into a thin line, pushing his hands away as she made a move to stand. "I'm fine."

He knew she wasn't, but there was no time to question the true cause of the pain, and she wouldn't have gone into it if he'd asked, anyway. Again, he took a hold of her arm; he was like metal filings to a magnet, wanting to make sure she was really there, that she wasn't some projection that his mind had created.

"We can't stay here, we have to leave." She didn't resist, though she leaned toward being a bit apathetic, as he nearly dragged her out of the room, and to the car. She allowed him to open the passenger side door for her, and she sat without protest. He strapped himself into the driver's seat, taking a moment to peer at her, as she stared straight ahead, before he pulled out of the lot and onto the road. After long, agonizing minutes of silence, he said,

"Well, this is certainly a change, from wanting to maul me earlier." Olivia looked at him at last, though her face was blank, and he added, "A _welcomed_ change. I prefer it over the hostility."

Her brows came together; she pushed herself back into the seat, as if trying to shrink into the upholstery, her arms again crossed. "It's what you said back there, to the Observer."

"What'd I say?" It had been an effort to get them out of there without taking her—a blur of words and feelings, that he hadn't quite kept track of. Apparently, some of it had made an impact on her.

"He said that I don't have a future." Peter nodded. "And then, you said that I do…with _you_."

"Ah, yeah, that." His hands tightened around the steering wheel.

"I'm tired of the waiting. I want an explanation." She tried to sound firm, but all he heard was exhaustion muffling her voice. She truly was tired, and so was he, he realized for the first time. Mostly, tired of running, and searching for his old life.

He nodded again, a crisp jerk of his head. "Fine. I think that's fair." He cleared his throat, cracked his knuckles, checked the rearview mirror for a moment, though no one else was on the road at this time of night—anything to give him time to gather his thoughts. This was Olivia, he had to remind himself, and she knew about parallel universes, and would be able to understand most of what he would tell her. However hard it might be to hear, he would tell her everything, though perhaps not all at this moment. But, at least he could begin.

"The Observer said you don't have a future, because Walternate is—or was, I'm not sure of the timing—going to kill you." There was a stunned silence, and he allowed her a moment to take it in. "I'm not sure what his exact motives are, but those were his plans, and I couldn't let that happen."

Having this sort of conversation while he was driving didn't seem to be the best idea. It was hard to keep his mind on both her and the road at the same time, but he managed. He could see it in her eyes, struggling to come to terms with this. The first words she had for him, though, were a bit surprising.

"Why couldn't you? Why am I so important to you, that you went to all this trouble to save my life, when I've never met you before?"

With his enthusiasm as he moved to turn and look at her, he nearly sent the car into the side of the road. "That's just it—you _have_ met me before, you just don't remember." That was what he was assuming, that this was the same universe, that he'd merely been erased from everyone's memories. There was hope, then, that he could bring those memories back. He continued,

"We need to close the Bridge, Olivia. Both universes need to survive, but not linked how they are. It's unnatural, doing more harm than good."

"How do you know all of this?"

Peter sighed. "Why don't we start from the beginning?"


	5. Chapter 5

V.

It was no use holding anything back, now. She was either going to believe him, or she wasn't, simple as that. And so Peter told her, beginning from the time he met her in Iraq, and then everything relevant in those three years that led up to his non-existence after the Bridge had been formed. He told her how he'd come to be in her universe, the tale of his abduction from the Other Side. She'd occasionally interjected with questions, though she'd kept quiet, for the most part. However, he hadn't told her of the fifteen or so years he'd experienced of the future. That was for another time.

She asked, "And now, you've come back as an Observer?" He nodded. He'd pulled over before he'd begun the tale, in the parking lot of a closed gas station. Olivia leaned her head back, her hair falling over the headrest; the light of the streetlamps reflected off it, giving her a strange glow. She closed her eyes. "And you expect me to believe you, to believe that you _were _in my life, until they decided to erase you from it?"

Again, he nodded, leaning forward, eager to explain. "What I think is that the past hasn't really changed—it's just everyone's memories that have. Walternate _did_ have a son. Walter once said that memories are never really gone. I think that there's someway for you to access those memories. You did it before."

"I did?"

"Yes." He could see the struggle in her eyes, deciding whether to believe him or not, searching for something within her that could validate what he was saying. Perhaps this hadn't been the best idea, to lay it all out like this, but he couldn't go on, hiding it from her. This was who she was, and in essence, who he was as well. "When you were held on the Other Side, they implanted memories in your head, because they wanted you to believe you were the Olivia from Over There. But you fought it, and now, you can do it again."

"Yeah, and how?" She was going to rebel, as her way of coming to terms with it, because he knew that she wasn't gullible, and though everything he told her was the truth, she had no reason to believe him. For all she knew, he was just some crazy man, who'd created this elaborate story for no reason at all. "How do you expect me to believe this?"

"I don't, Olivia. I'd like you to, very much, but I don't expect you to just accept this." She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing the heels of her palms into her forehead. "The headache's back, isn't it?" She nodded, almost imperceptibly. "I think it's your mind, trying to process all of this. It's the memories fighting back."

She snorted, shaking her head. "You know, I met a boy named Peter once, while I was still living in Jacksonville." He swore his heart skipped a beat, though he wasn't sure why. It was very possible, now that he thought of it, that the two of them had met when they were children, when Walter had still been running the Cortexiphan trials. "It was just once, but it was like he knew me better than anyone…and then he was gone." With effort, she took her hands away from her face, one of them moving to press her fingertips against his jaw, as if feeling to see if he were real, not just some sort of apparition. "I asked Walter about it, years later, after we'd started working together, and when I found out that I'd been a subject in his trials. He told me that there had never been a boy named Peter, that I'd just imagined him." Her brows knit together, and he leaned into her touch, full of hope. "You're my imaginary friend, come back as an adult, with this insane story."

He moved his hand over hers, holding her hand to his face. That bit of warmness was what he needed, a connection to her. Words hadn't seemed to make a difference so far; perhaps contact would.

"I want to trust you. I don't know why, but I feel like I can."

"You can."

She shook her head, though allowed him to keep her hand in place on his face, fingertips still grazing his skin. "Both of us are on the run, now. I'm not just your hostage anymore. I know enough now that you aren't going to hurt me; no one could make up a story like that. So, I have a question: what's next?"

Peter turned back to the front, and her hand fell limply to her lap. He started the car, the sound strident in the still night, and said, "We need to figure out how to repair the tears in the universes, and close the Bridge. I think that, if we can do that, they'll fix everything."

"By fix everything, you mean—"

"—I mean, they'll make the universe right again. I don't mean to sound self-centered, but I'm meant to exist, and right now, the universe is off-balance. We need to fix it."

She stared dully at him, though his eyes were focused on the road. "Fix it? You think the two of us can do that, alone?"

"I sure hope so."

#

Olivia had taken it all better than he'd thought she would, seeing as how he'd essentially invalidated nearly three years of her life. But, that incredulity wasn't gone, and he knew that she didn't believe him, though he was beginning to gain her trust, if not just a minute amount.

They were headed to Liberty Island, in hopes that they would find some way to attempt to close the Bridge, though how, he had no idea. They were running on nothing; his only plan had been to save her life, and now that he'd done that, the ideas weren't coming as quickly. He was silent for a while, giving her time to digest, and was surprised when she was the first to speak after a while.

"You said I was held on the Other Side." When he affirmed this, she continued, "If your theory is correct, that new memories are blocking the old ones, then perhaps I was, but I don't remember it. But, tell me about it. Why, and how?"

It was curious that she'd decided to ask him about this, rather than something else—the insinuations of something more than friendship between them, though he hadn't made the extent of their relationship explicit just yet. The details surrounding her time on the Other Side he'd intentionally kept vague, because of the drama that encircled it. "When I found out that Walter had taken me from my father, the Secretary, I left. I had no idea where I was going, I just knew that I wanted to be away from him, and the Secretary found me. He brought me to the Other Side, and you and Walter came after me.

"You found me, convinced me to come back with you, but in the commotion, the Other Olivia—the alternate you—managed to switch places. She came back with us, and you stayed there. The Secretary kept you, and they ran experiments on you. I'm not sure of all the details, because you never really liked to talk about it. But, they tried to convince you that you were their Olivia, but you overcame it. You didn't let her memories overcome your own, you didn't let yourself become her."

She'd paled. He wasn't surprised; hearing about such a horror wasn't easy, even if he'd been telling the story of someone else. But, to know that it had happened to her, and yet, being unable to remember any of it, was something he could only imagine.

He pulled to the side of the road, a thought striking him. "Could I see something, for just a second? Could you lean forward?"

She looked at him questioningly, but obliged, and he moved back her hair, gathering it to one side. There, at the back of her neck, was the tattoo, the same tattoo the alternate Olivia had on the back of her neck. Olivia had never sought to get it removed; she'd never told him why, exactly. It was something he'd never been able to pry from her. But there it was, clear as day. And though it was a reminder of something terrible, he smiled. "If that's not proof, then I don't know what is."

"What?"

"Here, sit up." He helped her maneuver herself so that she could peer into the rearview mirror, angling it so she could see the back of her neck. "See that?"

Her jaw went slack. "I've never seen that before, I…What is it?"

"It's a tattoo, the same one the other Olivia has. They put it there when they were trying to convince you, and everyone else, that you were her." He felt like punching the air in celebration. "There's always something. They couldn't cover up everything. The memories might be hidden, but they forget about this, and now, I have proof. So do you, that I'm not insane."

She settled back into the seat, looking more than just slightly disturbed. "I never thought you were insane. Now, I think _I _might be the crazy one. How could I have never seen that?"

"You never thought to look, I guess. Honestly, I can't remember the last time I looked at the back of my own neck." It was an attempt to lighten the mood, but she would have none of it. She was apparently too deeply perturbed by this wave of new information.

And twenty minutes of silence later, unsurprisingly, she had fallen asleep. He wondered if the information had actually exhausted her—most likely it was both that, and the fact that she'd been working a case before he'd taken her, and knowing Olivia, she probably hadn't slept since she'd started the case. He was glad that she'd taken it somewhat in stride. He hadn't known what to expect, though he'd suspected that she'd be able to keep herself collected, as she'd done. A quiet tolerance was one step closer to remembrance.


	6. Chapter 6

VI.

It wasn't often that there was anyone in the basement of Liberty Island when the Bridge wasn't being utilized for travel, save for a few straggling scientists. The readings from the inter-universal connection were transferred wirelessly to Massive Dynamic, where tabs were kept, to make sure that the Bridge wouldn't cause some sort of lethal tear in the fabric of the universes. However risky it would be for them to travel to Massive Dynamic in hopes of learning something new, it was the only thing he could think of, save for running away, hiding from the impending destruction. At least they had the cover of nightfall, though the lights of the city nearly did away with that advantage.

Olivia woke up once they arrived in the city, though she didn't speak, not immediately. She hadn't moved, her head titled toward the window, and he supposed she was pretending to still be asleep, but he could tell otherwise. He didn't bother her until he'd parked in front of the enormous building.

"We're here."

She shifted in her seat, sitting up. "Wonderful." Her tone was dry. "And why are we here?"

"To find out exactly how the Bridge is affecting both universes."

"It's done nothing but good—well, that was what I thought before you came into the picture." She turned to look at him, eyes narrowed.

He got out of the car, and moved to the passenger side door. "You're coming, aren't you?"

Her eyes were still full of mistrust, her arms crossed. "Do I have any other choice?" She was going to fight him on this, on the now-proven information that he had, in fact, been in her life at one time, until her memories actually returned.

Peter smirked. "Not really." He offered a hand to her, which she refused, getting out of the car on her own. She raised a hand to her head for a moment as she stood, her eyes closing, and she stood there, unmoving. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." She opened her eyes, jabbing a thumb back toward the car. "Maybe you should give me my gun back, just in case."

"Is it your head again?" If the memories were too much of an overload, there was the chance that they might cause actual, physical damage to her brain. She stared at him, neither an affirmation nor negation, and he stared right back. Olivia Dunham with a gun was a deadly combination, and he certainly didn't want to be looking down the barrel.

"Do you really think that I'm going to shoot you, after all of this?" Her hands on her hips, she glanced up toward the ominous form of Massive Dynamic, towering over the both of them. "I told you, I want to find out what's _really _going on, and you're the only one who seems to be able to show me. But, if we end up in a bad situation in there, I don't want to be left defenseless."

"Well, I hope you don't change your mind." Always the skilled negotiator, she was, and the gun was out of his hands and back in her holster before he could blink. A deep breath, and then they were inside, in the middle of the empty lobby. It was empty, save for a lone security guard at the front desk, though he was sure the security was tighter than it seemed to be. Apparently, Massive Dynamic was open into the dead of night, for the scientists that almost lived there. The security guard called out to them, beckoning them to the desk.

"We're closed to the general public at the moment."

Olivia reached into her pocket, pulling out her badge. "Olivia Dunham, FBI. I've been granted access to whatever I need, whenever I need it. Check your files." Her brows rose. "You must be new."

The guard stammered, his face flushing as he scanned the screen of the computer in front of him. "O-Oh, yes, Agent Dunham, I apologize. Go right on ahead." He gestured much too wildly toward the elevator doors. "If you need anything, please let me know." She gave a curt nod, and strode off, leaving Peter to jog to catch up with her.

"Walter still owns the place, huh?"

Her head bobbed forward. "Yes."

He chuckled. "Good for him."

As they stepped into the elevator, she frowned. "It hasn't done much good. He barely leaves his Harvard lab as it is." Peter's expression dropped, and she continued, "He's been the same way since I had him discharged from St. Claire's. His wife killed herself—he caused all these problems with both universes. I think anyone would be messed up after that. Astrid's really the only one that's gotten through to him."

"Not you?"

"He only speaks to me when he has to, for a case—otherwise, no. But it was different when you…?" She was at a loss for words, but he understood her point.

"He saw you as a sort of daughter. Our own little, dysfunctional family." Peter sighed. "He loved you, Olivia, he really did." There was a change, that because he hadn't been there to stabilize the connection between the two of them, their relationship had never grown to be as it had been before. She was frowning, more so than before, creases in the sides of her face. She stared at her hands, rocking on the balls of her feet, and he asked her, "What is it?"

She shook her head, glancing back up at him. "It's strange. I've always felt a sort of emptiness, for as long as I can remember, and I never knew why. But, with you, it's gone, and I just realized it now."

"An emptiness?"

"That's the only way I can think to explain it. Just a sort of feeling." She looked sheepish.

"I understand." He'd felt it, though he'd _known_ why; it was because she'd been missing, along with Walter, most importantly, from his life. Apparently, he'd made the same impact on her, though unconsciously. The elevator doors slid open, and he followed her as she strode down the hall, to a door marked 'PRIVATE'. It was locked, opened only when she slid an identification card that she took from her pocket through a sensor. There was a single man inside, nodding off as they walked in. He stood as he heard them, spinning around to face them.

"Oh, Agent Dunham!" His face flushed red, and he gestured toward the various monitors that he'd been sitting in front of. "Nothing's changed so far."

She nodded politely. "Thank you. If you could give us a moment, please? Just wait outside." He scrambled out, and Peter was impressed with how seemingly intimidated he was by Olivia. She moved toward the screens, eyes scanning the data, and he looked over her shoulder.

Peter clucked his tongue. "It's not looking good."

"How would you even know how to read the data?" she murmured under her breath, mostly to herself, he knew, but because of their proximity, he heard the snarky comeback anyway. He said nothing, only pointed to a section on one of the monitors, which displayed a map. Certain parts of it had been highlighted in red.

"Look at this. This map shows an estimation of how the rifts will spread. But, it looks like the Bridge has accelerated their growth—this wouldn't be happening on This Side if the connection hadn't been made. This isn't what I had hoped would happen."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," he said, sitting heavily in the now-vacated chair, "neither universe is going to survive if this is kept up. I don't think the Observers expected this either. They thought that once I created the Bridge, they didn't need me anymore, but that isn't true. They still need me, but I can't do anything for them, now."

"Why does this all revolve around you?" Her tone was accusatory, and she crossed her arms. He felt as if he were stuck in an interrogation room with her; not a great position to be in. "Why are you the only one that can fix all of this?"

"I can't fix it."

"Well, you apparently caused it, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"So, do something about it."

"I _can't_. Not alone, anyway." He pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes, sighing. There was a buzzing in his ears, in the back of his head. Then, strangely, it changed into a voice—_Olivia's _voice.

"_Why do I feel like I know him?...What is it about him?...Is this really going to mean the end of our universe?_" He looked up at her, his jaw agape, but her mouth wasn't moving. Instead, she was staring at him, looking confused, and pissed.

"What is it?" she said.

He'd known that the Observers had had some sort of psychic ability, because they'd known what was in _his _head, but he hadn't ever thought he'd begin to develop it himself. Perhaps the odd hair loss was due to something more than stress. Being invited to be one of them seemed to hold many more consequences than he'd thought.

"We have to go." He took a hold of her wrist, pulling her out of the room, passing the scientist on the way out, who offered them a weak "goodbye" as they passed, not caring to ask where they were rushing to. He didn't bother with the elevator, instead taking the stairs, and trusting that he would followed her as he let go of her and used the side rails to keep his balance. Back outside, she stopped him on the sidewalk, before he could make it back into the car.

"Peter!" She stepped forward, closer to him, an edge to her voice that he rarely heard. While hearing his name come from her mouth would've otherwise been a joyous occasion, he was too freaked out about having heard her thoughts, as well as the tearing of the universes, to really take notice. "This is it. This ends here, this game that you're playing."

"You said it was an emptiness that you felt, but you don't feel it anymore. Was that true? Or, were you just 'playing' along?" His own voice was calm, betraying his internal feelings.

She shrugged, her hands on her hips—dangerously close to her gun, he thought. "It's still there, though not as strong. Something is still missing."

"It's your memories. The memories that you have of me, and of your life, when I still existed." His eyes moved to the sky. The glare from the city lights blocked out the stars, but nonetheless, it was a beautiful night. It was a shame that this universe would cease to exist, unless they did something about it, and fast. "I don't know how to get the memories back, but I think you're starting to remember. It's the headaches, like I said before. They mean the memories are coming back, probably because you saw me again, and you were never supposed to. The Observers altered your perception, so you never noticed the tattoo until I pointed it out to you, but it's been there all along. Those memories you have, before the Bridge was opened—many of them are false."

"So I'll ask you again, Peter Bishop." His name came out sounding like a curse on her lips, now. "What is it that we do next? Do you expect me to just follow you around, while you think up another way to lure me from death? Because, the way I see it, we're all going to die unless we figure out a way to repair our universe."

They stood there for a moment, silence suddenly overtaking them, interrupted only by the ambience of their surroundings. It almost seemed peaceful, save for the look on her face, and the anxiety that had his heart in a chokehold.

"Walter," he said at last. "Walter can help. He always thinks of something."

"Yeah?" scoffed Olivia. "Good luck getting him to do anything. He doesn't much like strangers. It took him a while to get used to _me_, once he got out of St. Claire's."

Peter smiled grimly. "I think he'll take to me."

"And what about Walternate? He's the reason you took me in the first place, right? If we go back to Boston, back home, he'll know where to find me."

"I'll keep you safe."

Her face grew tight. "I don't need anyone to keep me safe."

"Well, then, I'll keep an eye out. Didn't you hear what the Observer said, back at the motel? They'll allow you to stay alive, as long as there is a need for you. I think they have a way of…persuading Walternate not to harm you, though he won't know that it's them. It was the same with me, that's why I, technically, don't exist anymore."

"There is a reason for you, though." The admittance was unexpected, and very quiet, after her previous outburst.

"What?" He was pleasantly surprised. "Yeah? What's that?"

"Well, you saved me once from death, I suppose. That's a good reason for me. And, you seem pretty confident that you'll be able to get through to Walter." Despite the apparent rift between the two of them—Walter and Olivia—she still seemed to care about him, very much so. "I think that'd be good for him, to be able to stand company that's more than Astrid and I. And, I guess it makes sense that you'd be able to, because in _your_ version of reality, you're sort of his son. But, there's one problem."

"Which is?"

"What if we can't fix it? What if the universe disintegrates around us? And, what if I never remember who you are?" He was also surprised that this was a concern for her, because she certainly hadn't shown any care for him so far.

He moved toward the car and pulled open the passenger door for her before he came up with a response.

"We always find a way to fix it, whatever the problem," he lied.


	7. Chapter 7

VII.

It'd been his idea to head back to her apartment first, because she hadn't been able to sleep in an actual bed for nearly two days now, and strangely enough, he was feeling tired as well. Olivia certainly didn't seem happy that Peter made it clear that he wasn't going to stay anywhere but her apartment, but he wasn't about to leave her alone, not when he still feared for her life. What he'd told her had been mostly bullshit: that Walternate would no longer be going after her because of what the Observer had said; really, he had no idea.

When they arrived, at an ungodly hour of the morning, she tossed him a blanket and pillow and gestured to the couch, before shutting the door to her bedroom and leaving him alone. It was exactly as they'd left her, though he hoped that they'd come on better terms than when they'd left. Olivia still hadn't warmed up to him, though her words gave him hope. The mere fact that she hadn't thought he was completely out of his mind after he'd told her their story was a reason for optimism.

He feigned sleep, unable to do more than lie there with his eyes closed, still dressed in pants and a button-down, his suit jacket and tie thrown across the back of an armchair. He could hear her, tossing and turning in her bed, and wanted to do nothing more than to join her, if only because of the reasoning that they could not-sleep together. Olivia had always struggled with insomnia, and in the past, they'd spent sleepless nights together, talking, watching television…doing more. That was before the world had forgotten him.

An hour passed, and he faded into a stupor, not sleeping, yet not quite awake. Worried was an understatement, because truly the fate of the universe was resting on his shoulders, and he was coming up blank with ideas. His only faith rested in Walter, though that faith was strong, because if anyone could think of some way to cure the world's problems, it was his pseudo-father. A light flickered on in the kitchen, and he heard the cadence of her bare feet on the tiled floor.

Peter waited a moment, giving her time to herself, listening as she bustled about, apparently attempting to keep the noise down in case he was sleeping. Then, he pushed the blankets away and swung his legs over the edge of the couch, standing and moving toward the doorway that led to the kitchen. She sat at the table, her back to him. One hand was cupped around a steaming mug of what he presumed to be coffee (caffeinated even at this time of night, of course; she never drank anything but), the other at the back of her neck, beneath her hair. She removed it as she heard him make his presence known with a clearing of his throat.

"I guess sleeping didn't work out so well," he said, his voice more sardonic than joking. It would've probably been in his best interest to _not _turn the situation into something worse than it already was, but their condition didn't lend itself to helping him out with that.

Olivia shook her head, still not looking at him. "When the world is ending, the last thing I can do is sleep."

He moved toward her, taking a seat across from her, his eyes on the top of her head, her eyes staring into the depths of her coffee cup. "We have time," he said softly, now in an effort to reassure her. "Our universe isn't going to fall apart right this instant. We have time to fix it."

"How much time?" Now, their eyes met, and hers were darker than he'd ever seen them. She looked so utterly exhausted.

"I don't know."

"Well, that's no help to me. If we don't know what we're working with, then that's just another disadvantage we have to deal with, and we are already dealing with more than we can handle."

"We'll fix it."

"Bullshit." There, she'd called him on it. He'd always been so quick with a retort, but not then, because this was Olivia he was facing. He couldn't con her into believing his words; she could see right through him, had always been able to.

"We can try." The words came out strangled, past the lump in his throat, because he was having trouble containing his emotions. Here he was in her kitchen, and his mind still held many memories of sitting in this very room, discussing the latest case over breakfast, as they got ready for their day. And on the couch he'd been sleeping on, where so much had happened, and at the same time, _nothing_ had. His life was a paradox—he didn't exist, his memories didn't exist, and yet, they did. "I promise, Olivia, we'll try."

Her hands rested on the table between them, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and wrap his own around them, to offer what little support he could. But he feared it would only make it worse, because he knew her trust in him still wavered on the edge of non-existence, and he didn't want to destroy the slight bond they'd already formed.

"You should try to get some sleep," he said, gesturing with a pointed them back toward the door.

She ignored him. "When you told me about your life—about our life, in the past—you said that Walter had taken you from the Other Side and raised you as if you were his own son." Peter nodded, and she continued, "Well, I'm happy for you, that'll you'll be able to see him again." It was strange, he thought, for her to say something so empathetic, when she'd just previously been so hostile toward him, though her tone still was a strange mixture of sympathy and antagonism. Olivia stood then, dumping her half-empty coffee cup in the sink before leaving him alone in the kitchen without another word.

His legs itched to follow her, and if it had been any other situation, he would have. Their timelines had been torn apart, and she was now living a life separate from the one they'd lived together, the one he still existed in. He, selfishly, considered it to be unfair that he remembered her, while she still so stubbornly refused to remember him, and who he was to her. It wasn't her fault; truly, it was his own. He'd made the decision to allow her to live, while he passed into non-existence, and what he'd believed to be death. But he'd been forced into something worse than death—living without her, and without Walter, as he had before.

#

He never slept, and from the looks of it, neither did Olivia. He found her again in the kitchen in the morning, hovering over the coffee pot.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," he said, leaning against the counter, her back turned to him. She did not acknowledge that she'd heard him. "Coffee isn't much of a breakfast."

She turned, pressing a mug into his hands, avoiding his eyes. She was already dressed for work, in her familiar neutral colors, her hair twisted back into a neat braid. "We can stop on the way to the lab to get you some clothes. By the looks of it, you've been wearing that outfit for a while." It was true. He'd been given the uniform of an Observer, though still had no idea of their normal routine—perhaps the Observers were able to avoid usual human necessities, but he certainly was not.

She allowed him to shower, and had set out a t-shirt and sweatpants for him that would do until new clothes were bought. He didn't ask why she had clothes that fit him; he didn't think he wanted to know the answer. After they'd made the quick stop, the trunk of the car loaded with a couple bags of clothing, they were off to the lab, and Peter's stomach was eating away at itself.

"How long are you going to stay with me?" she asked on the way, her voice even, betraying absolutely no emotion.

He could've told her that he never expected (read: wanted) to leave, but he feared it would be too overwhelming, and so, he simply replied, "I don't know."

"Well, now that it's come down to this," she continued, "I'm not going to let you leave until this is all settled. Whether you fix this or not, you're not going anywhere until it's over with."

At least she still wanted him to stick around.

The Kresge Building looked almost as if it were glowing in the morning sunlight, though Olivia took no notice, striding through the doors with Peter hot on her heels. It was the same building, the same hallway, and yet, it had a different feel to it. Darker, somehow. Despite the horrors they'd gone through in that very lab, it'd always been like a second home, where they'd made just as many good memories as they had bad, if not more.

This was not a home. It was simply a lab; a cold, dank room, that smelled of chemicals, and nothing more. There was no waft of cinnamon, or some other pastry or fried food. There was no music. There was barely even any light, except for that which flickered from the overhead fluorescents. If there hadn't been movement from the corner of the room once they entered, Peter would've thought the entire place to be abandoned; a trap Olivia had set for him.

It was Astrid, hurrying toward them in a flurry of limbs, nearly throwing herself onto Olivia, then stopping herself, for a reason Peter couldn't quite pinpoint.

"Thank _God_ you're back, Olivia," she gasped, and Olivia nodded, her mouth tight. "We were all so worried, we had no idea where you were—it's not like you to go off like that, but I'm glad to see you're alright."

"It wasn't my choice to leave unannounced, believe me." She gestured toward Peter, who'd been standing a little ways off during the greeting, eyes roaming the laboratory. "Agent Farnsworth, this is Peter Bishop. He'll be…working with us, for the time being."

"'Bishop'?" Astrid repeated, with a snicker. "Not any relation to Walter, I wouldn't think?"

Olivia caught his eye for a moment. "Not any that he's mentioned." Good. At least she was willing to keep what he'd told her between the two of them, at least for the time being. Their dynamic was strange, though; the use of Astrid's last name, the obvious distance that was a cause of this. Olivia and Astrid had never been particularly close, he knew, but compared to this, they'd been the best of friends. "Listen, can you give us some time with Walter? I know he'd be more comfortable if you were here, but I think it's time for him to be able to deal with some things on his own, too."

Astrid shifted on the balls of her feet. "Well, if you think it'd be best."

She left, leaving Peter and Olivia standing in front of the door. She turned to him. "You told me your entire story—_our _story, I guess—but I'm going to warn you: I assume that the Walter Bishop I know is nothing like the one from your past." She spoke in a hushed tone, apparently to keep Walter from hearing, wherever he was. "He lives here, literally. He hasn't left the lab for more than a couple hours at a time since he was released from St. Claire's three years ago. He only speaks when absolutely necessary, and when he does, it often doesn't make sense. He doesn't take well to strangers. And, he _hates_, completely despises, the fact that we've created a Bridge. He thinks the universes should remain separate."

"As do I," Peter interjected, and she shook her head, shushing him.

"I'm just warning you. You may not get through to him."

He followed her to the side room, where he'd remembered Olivia having an office, where she'd worked while not at the bureau. Apparently, in this strange limbo of a universe, without his existence, it now worked as a makeshift bedroom for Walter. The man himself sat on the bed, his back to them, arms wrapped around his body, pulling the knitted sweater more tightly round himself. He was fixated on a tiny television screen in the corner of the room, making no intimation that he'd heard them come in.

Olivia cleared her throat, knocking lightly on the door, though it was open. "Walter?"

He turned slowly, and Peter bit back a gasp—or a wail, as it were. He was more haggard than Peter had ever seen him, his face thin, skin wrinkled and dry. It looked as if he hadn't shaved in quite a few days, and a thin layer of gray hair had grown. His eyes were sunken into his head, dark circles beneath them. He was missing that spark of life he'd always had, even just after being released from the mental institution. He barely looked alive.

"Hello, Agent Dunham." His voice was monotone; he didn't even look at Peter. And he felt it deep in the pit of his stomach, an ache, adding on to the pain of still knowing that Olivia didn't recognize him, either.

It was natural curiosity; to wonder what the world would be like if you didn't exist in it. It was not his own ego forcing him to come to the conclusion that the universe had been a better place when he'd existed; the support was all around, wherever he looked. The man who'd become his surrogate father was holed up in the bowels of Harvard, living no sort of life he'd ought to.

Olivia kept her voice soft, though he could hear the impatience leaking through. "Walter, you have a visitor. His name is Peter. He's going to be helping us with something." She'd strategically left his last name out.

"Peter?" He stood, turning to face the two of them, nearly bent in half at the hip. He hobbled forward. He peered more closely at the man who had, such a short time ago, been a son to him. Peter willed the memories to return, for Walter to remember him, to help him fix the world. "I always told Elizabeth that if we ever had a son, we'd name him Peter." Olivia seemed surprised at this admission. "You look like her, you know. Which is strange, I suppose, since you are obviously not any relative of hers or mine." He frowned, eyeing Olivia. "He isn't from the Other Side, is he?"

"Of course not," she lied. "I know how you feel about them." Here, apparently, the hostilities were not one-sided. Walter was just as antagonistic as Walternate was. "Let's go take a seat. We have to discuss some things with you."

"Can't we wait?" He waved a hand back toward the television. "There's a program on.."

"Walter," she said firmly, backing out the doorway, "this is more important than that, I'm sure."

Peter moved forward, a crease forming in the middle of his forehead, blinking to force back a sudden spurt of emotion. "Please, I'd really like to speak to you."

Walter said nothing, though his acquiescence was evident as he followed the two of them into the center of the lab, where they all took a seat, surrounding a computer that displayed streaming data from the Bridge.

"Peter and I visited Massive Dynamic last night."

"And how is Nina doing?" At least _their _relationship seemed to be intact.

"I'm sorry Walter, we didn't see her. It was late. But that's irrelevant. Peter wanted to see the data, and I thought it would be good to have a fresh set of eyes take a look at it." She brought up the data that had led Peter to the conclusion about the damage the Bridge was causing. "Peter, why don't you explain?" After the cynicism from her the past few days, the civility was unexpected, but certainly welcomed. He knew it was just an act, to keep from scaring Walter off.

He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the surface between them. This man sitting in front of him was just a shell of the Walter he'd known, and it made him, again, wonder why the Observers had brought him into this hell.

Perhaps it was for this reason, to save the universes.

Again.

"I understand you're not a fan of the Bridge." He lips turned up into a sort of grim caricature of a smile.

Walter stared at him. "The universes are meant to be apart. I made the mistake of joining them once before, for the purpose of my own curiosity. It shouldn't be happening again. It's not meant to be."

"Exactly my sentiments." He brought his finger to the computer screen. "All of this data shows that what you're saying is right, that the Bridge is causing more damage than I'm sure anyone intended." Though Walter wasn't aware of it—and Olivia hadn't been until he'd told her his story, and even then, he was doubtful she still fully believed him—it hadn't been _Peter's _intention to cause so much damage by bringing both universes together. The blame was off of him for now, but the guilt was still there. "So, we need to stop it."

"We can't just _stop_ it." Walter stood, moving toward a chalkboard nearby. Olivia leaned in toward Peter as Walter busied himself with a drawing, his back turned to them.

"I've never seen him like this," she murmured, her warm breath lingering on his ear. "Usually, it's all I can do to just get his attention. You've gotten it, and managed to hold it."

He smirked. "Believe me now?"

She cocked a brow at him, drawing back from him. Walter turned toward the two once again, gesturing toward what he'd drawn on the board. "If we first attempt to break the connection between the two universes, both o ddewill simply fall apart, due to the damage that has already begun to form in the fabric of both. But—!" He paused, the chalkboard screeching as he brought the chalk along it, with the enthusiasm of his movement. "If we repair the damage, then we can safely draw both universes apart, without any further harm."

"Okay Walter," said Olivia, "but how do we repair the damage?"

He puffed out his chest a bit. "Well, Walternate will have to be willing to work with us. Together, we will need to figure out a way to…" His voice faltered a bit, and he looked at Peter, as if truly seeing him for the first time. "Who are you?"

"Walter, I already told you—"

"Yes, yes." He was growing agitated, speaking curtly over Olivia, moving toward the both of them. "I know, but you never mentioned a full name."

"Peter Bishop." It was Peter who said it, keeping his expression as stoic as possible.

"Bishop? Strange. And you look so familiar.."

Olivia's eyes darted back and forth, obvious worry coloring her face. "We should go."

"How do I know you?"

Peter shook his head. "You don't." It pained him to say it; struck something deep within him. It had felt as if he'd been walking through a dream, though now, everything was becoming clearer. This wasn't a dream. It was the cold, harsh reality, of the universe that had deserted him, and these people—strangers, really—had lived without him.

Walter had been imprisoned, and now, this was nearly as bad. Olivia had been killed, and though she was here, alive, she looked at him with mistrust, despite what he'd told her. His throat tightened.

"You don't know me, but I wish you did."

"Peter." Olivia put a hand on his arm. "We're leaving." She turned to Walter. "I'll schedule a meeting with Walternate tomorrow. We'll discuss how to fix the problem then. For now, try to get some sleep, okay?"

They left Walter standing there, in the middle of his lab, quite confused.

"That's all there is to it?" said Peter, nearly jogging to keep up with her through the halls of Harvard. "All you have to do is 'schedule a meeting'?"

"With the Bridge, going to the Other Side is as easy as walking through a door." She patted her side. "And, if he still does try to kill me, now I'm prepared."


End file.
